9:00pm: I fooled some more folks into thinking I had class and a reason to be approached for biz-related chit-chat. Unfortunately, I was unable to get Harry Styles to propose to me at the Sony party, but free tequila and good company turned out to be a great second prize. See pics of me with Pentatonix (below) and Sony/ATV chief Marty Bandier and son Max (left) for proof that I'm not completely unapproachable.

Someone just lit a cigarette near me and I feared for everyone's lives. Considering the amount of hairspray in this do, my outfit should have come with a fire extinguisher. If being from HITS isn't enough to kick me out of this joint, the fact that I'm a fire hazard should be. Speaking of joints and fires, can someone help a sista out? No? On to the parties then...

7:15pm: Recent Best New Artist winner Sam Smith (aka my best friend) passes the honor over to Meghan Trainor, who makes me reconsider what I said earlier about Tay provided the most adorable moment of the night. Choking back tears and in total awe, she expresses her gratitude and thanks L.A. Reid, as well as her mom and dad. Yea. Precious. It makes sense, too. Her breakout album Title is a real booty-shaker that's riddled with hits. Mazel.

Lady Gaga channels her inner Ziggy Stardust, throwing her whole self into a huge medley of David Bowie gems. It was flashy, energetic and kinda weird; much like Bowie himself, and I mean that in the best way possible of course. It's the perfect note for me to make my exit on. I know, I'm early, but, hey, a girl's gotta party.

7:00pm: Bruno Mars introduces Adele, who sings her heart out for a song they collaborated on together, "All I Ask." I sob like a baby internally, but that might be partially because I haven't looked up from my phone since noon and I'm starting to forget what the real world looks like.

6:45pm: KENDRICK MOTHERFUCKING LAMAR, EVERYBODY. Way to give the night an adrenaline shot! There were a few times I thought someone slipped me an acid tab, and I may not be able to hear after that performance (complete with flames, entrancing back-up dancers, seizure-like rhyme-spitting and jazzy horns), but who cares? Props for originality and for making a statement.

On another note, oh my goooooood. The hunger has begun to set in. Is it acceptable/allowed to get Domino's delivered to Staples Center if I give them my row and seat number? If Ellen can do it, why the hell can't I, huh?

I'm starting to realize my "updates" have just become a thread of bitching and moaning. I'VE CREATED A MONSTER.

6:10pm: Pentatonix and Stevie Wonder tip their hats to the late Maurice White by performing a stunning a cappella version of Earth Wind & Fire's "That's the Way of the World" before presenting Song of the Year to Ed Sheeran.

Eagles members play "Take It Easy" in memory of the great Glenn Frey, garnering an appropriate standing ovation. Can people please stop dying? I'm started to get depressed over here.

6:00pm: Demi Lovato, Luke Bryan, Meghan Trainor, Tyrese Gibson and John Legend join forces and take turns covering Lionel Richie (the MusiCares Person of the Year honoree) chestnuts, before being graced by the pipes of the man of the moment himself. I think I saw him shed a few tears during Demi's rendition of "Hello." Lionel, ya big softie.

In case you were wondering, my butt has begun to go numb.

5:30pm: The Weeknd opts for a stripped-down performance that focuses simply and elegantly on the power of the music, backed by a pianist and cellist and urging me to give a stripped-down performance of my own...

As I think about how I ache for a strong whiskey drink, Chris Stapleton's Traveller wins for Country Album. If I find him after the show, I'm totally challenging him to a game called Who Can Drink Who Under the Table? to celebrate.

5:15pm: Aaannnd Best Rap Album goes to To Pimp a Butterfly. It's clearly a good time to be Kendrick, and a horrible day to be my feet, which are currently whimpering in pain.

Sam Hunt and Carrie Underwood prove to be a match made in heaven with their mash-up of his "Take Your Time" and her "Heartbeat." This is how babies are made, people.

5:00pm: Ken Ehrlich takes his annual shot at stand-up comedy. Need I say more?

Taylor did as Taylor does; she sparkled. Opening the show with "Out of the Woods" she lit up the room, metaphorically and literally (thanks to multi-colored, light-up wristbands that blinked to the beat of the song). Thanks for the pop music equivalent of a sugar rush, girl. This cranky reporter needed a pick-me-up. I think I've officially become a jaded prick like the rest of them. Lord, help me.

3:30pm: The king of panty-dropping, Abel Tesfaye (professionally known as The Weeknd), scores his first win today, as "Earned It" is recognized as Best R&B Performance. I'm just glad they didn't play the thing. The Recording Academy is certainly not prepared to be responsible for that many unplanned pregnancies. Tesfaye's Beauty Behind the Madness also won Best Urban Contemporary Album.

Alabama Shakes do it again... and AGAIN! "Don't Wanna Fight" is Best Rock Song, and Sound & Color is Best Alternative Music Album. I would be clapping, but I think all this time spent blogging on my iPhone has triggered early carpal tunnel.

Kendrick Lamar's first win is for Best Rap Performance with "Aright." Right afterwards, "These Walls" by Bilal, Kendrick Lamar, Thundercat & Anna Wise is crowned Best Rap/Sung Collaboration. Following that, "Alright" wins Best Rap Song. King Kunta's on a roll. Only 8 more to go.

3:00pm: Hell yes! Chris Stapleton's "Traveller" is recognized as Best Country Solo Performance. I belted that one in the shower before coming here. My performance is not deserving of any awards, though... Restraining orders maybe.

Little Big Town's "Girl Crush" earned both Country Duo/Group Performance and Best Country Song. Those troopers certainly deserve it after the hell they went through to get airplay from traditional-leaning Country radio. Apparently it was too "controversial." Fuck, if that's too controversial, I don't know what that makes me. LBT made sure to thank Mike Dungan, Cindy Mabe, Jason Owen and their radio team.

Of course, Skrillex & Diplo w/Justin Bieber's "Where Are U Now" nabbed Best Dance Recording. Seems like anything the Biebs touches right now turns to gold. My theory is that he keeps the secret sauce in his swoopy hair.

2:40pm: Tay's won her second award of the night for Best Music Video with "Bad Blood." Duh. It was the best action film of 2015 after all... and it wasn't even feature-length. Unfortunately, the pop princess couldn't come to the phone this time around. It's like she's busy or something...

Amy was honored as the year's Best Music Film. I wholeheartedly support that decision, as I hope most in this industry would. I can't listen to Back to Black without being overwhelmed with chills since getting an inside look at her beautiful, tortured spirit. Cheers to you, Amy.

2:25pm: Best Compilation Soundtrack for Visual Media went to Glen Campbell: I'll Be Me. Big Machine's Scott Borchetta accepted, graciously thanking everyone for supporting people with Alzheimers. His words were so touching, they almost made my black heart sparkle.

Selma's "Glory" (performed by Common and John Legend) got Best Song Written for Visual Media.

1:00pm: Alabama Shakes' Sound & Color scores Best Engineered Album, Non-Classical. Damn straight. This rock and soul lover is so elated her tats are tingling. That's the first of four noms for the Shakes.

12:45pm: I have arrived! And I already want to know where I can file a complaint. Who do I talk to about turning down the goddamn sun? I mean, it is February, right? Isn’t it -5,000 degrees on the East Coast now? Let the guttural sighs begin. On the bright (not blistering) side, SVP Awards Bill Freimuth just quoted my personal Jesus, Tom Waits. Much respect; we’re off to a good start. “The large print giveth and the small print taketh away. That’s what I’m here for,” shared Freimuth. He explained that the ceremony may cause dizziness or nausea. Shit; Dramamine, may be the ONE item I forgot to stuff in my Mary Poppins bag.

He then noted that about 75 awards are given out at the pre-ceremony. Fasten your seat-belts, ladies n gents.

The first award has been given to Tay Tay for Best Pop Vocal Album. You go, girl. Totally didn’t see that one coming… right? Jack Antonoff (a collaborator on 1989) accepted the award in her honor. He called Ms. Swift on his cell phone and jammed it up against the mic, as she squeeled “WE WON????!!!!” She then requested that anyone who knows James Taylor to let him know that she loves him. The day’s not gonna get much cuter than that. I don’t care if you shower me in puppies; it’s just not possible.

YAAAAAS! My guttural sigh has officially been replaced with a squeal. RCA dream team (and YouTube masterminds) Pentatonix have won for Best Arrangement, Instrumental or A Cappella with “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.” Considering it seems they're responsible for bringing pure vocal talent to the forefront in an age of fake, plastic garbage, this is certainly well-deserved.

11:00am: It’s Graaaaaammy day [said in my best Liza Minelli impression]! Shoutout to my Glam Squad crew (Mirayah and Chelsea), who arrived promptly at 8am to make it look like I’m not hungover and Vitamin D-deficient. They even did me the decency of filing down the devil horns that have been growing ever since I sold my soul to work at HITS. They’re magicians I tell you. Cue Taylor Swift’s “Blank Space,” 'cause, baby, I’m a "nightmare dressed as a daydream."

This is my second year attending the big shindig, and after surviving the chicken-with-its-head-cut-off experience I had last year, I’ve learned a few things. For one, fuck driving. Never again. Spending 45 minutes circling around Staples Center in slow-motion just to come face-to-face with a bajillion road closures and rubber-necking pedestrians WILL lead to tears and hyperventilation that no mascara or glam magic can protect you from. Uber, I love you.

Another pro-tip? Dresses are for messes. It’s all about the halter-top jumpsuit. No chance of a nip slip or Marilyn’s subway grate moment in sight. Always remember: Wherever J Biebs is gonna be, hoards of ruthless, hormonal females (and some males) follow. You need to be able to duck and dodge, people.

Very soon, I’ll make the downtown pilgrimage. Will I finally achieve my goal of cornering Harry Styles and pursuing my life-long dream of being the most tattooed housewife in America? Does having a glam squad mean I’m one step closer to joining Tay Tay’s squad?

Watch this space throughout the day, as I send live updates from the pre-telecast, the red carpet, the show and a couple of after-parties. Someone grab me an Adderall and/or a venti café mocha valium vodka latte to go, because it’s game time!